


A Touch of Witchery

by midgardian_leviosa



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Poetry, Bards, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fuck Or Die, Light Angst, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Pining, Poetry, Prose Poem, Sex Magic, Singing, Virginity, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midgardian_leviosa/pseuds/midgardian_leviosa
Summary: Geralt heroically dives in front of Yennefer and gets hit by a fuck-or-die spell. Or, to be more specific, a get-it-up-the-ass-or-die spell. You'll never guess what happens next!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 65
Kudos: 743





	A Touch of Witchery

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the dragon-hunting episode, when they are defending the dragon in the cave. What if one of the other teams had a mage?

Sparks flew. Geralt dove out of the way in the nick of time, and a fiery blast of magic seared the air where he had been standing just moments before. 

“Shit,” he said, and what he meant was--

“Where did he come from? Since when did their team have a mage?” Yennefer shouted above the cacophany. She held a forcefield around their little group--herself, Geralt, and Jaskier--but she had been caught off-guard and had not eaten properly in a day or two, so she was not at full strength. 

“How is it that whenever I’m around you, these things just _happen_?” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes at Geralt. Geralt and his merry band of...well, just Geralt, usually, always had a way of getting them out of these things alive. Jaskier wasn’t too worried. Maybe a little.

Eventually, Yennefer could strain no more, and she grunted with effort and fell backward, releasing the forcefield. 

Then two things happened at the same time.

One, Geralt leapt at the enemy mage, sword in hand.

Two, the mage hurled a blast of pure magic directly at Yennefer’s heart. 

Geralt felt time stop. He twisted in midair and dove in front of Yennefer, taking the full force of the spell. He cried out and everything went black.

. . .

Humming. Somebody was humming, and everything was still black, and everything hurt. What kind of idiot would wake up an injured Witcher by humming so obnoxiously to himself? 

“Shu’p,” Geralt moaned, his tongue still mostly asleep, and he squirmed against the leaves and moss beneath him. “Shut up,” he tried again, and then he opened his eyes suddenly, because he should not be able to feel the scratch of leaves on his bottom. He should, in general, be wearing _clothes_.

“Oh, you’re awake! Wonderful!” Jaskier’s face lit up, and he splashed out of the creek, naked as the day he was born, taking with him both of their filthy battle-worn clothes. “Just doing some washing while you slept. How do you feel?”

“Yennefer,” Geralt remembered suddenly. “Where is she? Is she all right?”

Jaskier’s face fell just a bit. “Yes, she left hours ago. She made sure you were OK. She did some kind of a magical check-up. Laying-on of hands. Something like that. She stood over you, said some weird incantation, felt you up all over--it was really a bit much, if you ask me--and she was all worried, but then suddenly, she laughed. I asked her what was so funny, really, you were quite hurt, and she said the weirdest thing. She said, ‘He’ll be just fine,’ and I said, well, what does he need? You know, so as not to die and all that. And she said, she said…’He can tell you that himself. I’m sure you’ll sort him right out, Jaskier.’” Jaskier shook his head. “Mages! Never say anything straightforward, do they? How are you supposed to know what you need if you don’t know magic?”

Geralt stared up into Jaskier’s blue eyes. “Fuck,” he said.

Jaskier nodded sagely. “Yes, I think we’re in a bit of a pickle, Geralt. But Yennefer was very certain that you would be all right. Perhaps we had better wait it out, get some rest. Unless you would like me to get dressed and ride into the next town? Perhaps they have a mage--”

Geralt grunted and shook his head. “Fuck,” he repeated, and half-sat up, leaning on his elbows.

Jaskier’s eyes bored into him, suddenly brimming with concern, and he knelt over Geralt’s nude body to feel his forehead. “You feel warm. Too warm. Is it getting worse? What do you need? Water? Food?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “No, idiot. Fuck. I need to be fucked.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. “Now? Uh. Well, I suppose I understand the sentiment, uh, shall I look for a prostitute in town--”

Geralt cut him off, voice half-breathless and gritty with, Jaskier worried, barely-contained pain. “Not a woman, you idiot. The spell I took was meant for a woman. So now. I. Need. To. Be. Fucked. Like a woman.”

Jaskier looked like he had seen a ghost. He was, for once, speechless.

Geralt tried again. “I need you to fuck me in the ass.”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped. His gaping mouth and bugged-out eyes made him look remarkably like a fish.

“You look like a fish,” Geralt said.

Jaskier wheezed.

“I’m sorry, but you do,” Geralt said, breathing hard.

Jaskier took a deep breath and finally regained his ability to speak. “You...you need me to fuck you in the ass?”

Geralt sighed. “I know it’s not exactly desirable. Trust me, it’s not my first choice, either. But. Right now, _nothing_ in the whole world sounds better than getting that big, juicy dick inside me.” He licked his lips and stared at Jaskier’s cock, which twitched at the attention.

Jaskier inhaled sharply through his nose. He had been pointedly _not_ looking at Geralt’s dick this whole time. Well, maybe a little. Not _paying attention_ to it, at any rate. He had assumed that Geralt’s cock was simply thick and heavy and _utterly delicious_ all the time, but now that he stopped to think about it, those were all symptoms of an erection. “I stripped The White Wolf out of his clothes while he had an erection,” Jaskier thought, “And now he wants me to fuck him. Whatever god has granted me this glorious day, I will make sacrifices on his altar until the day I die.”

Geralt snorted. “You sure you can keep that promise? ‘Til the day you die?”

Jaskier turned white. “Did I…? I didn’t,” he stuttered.

Geralt laughed. “Yes, you did say that out loud.” He let his hand wander down to stroke his erection.

Jaskier stared, cock hardening rapidly.

“But...but you said you wouldn’t want me...I don’t want to...to take advantage…” Jaskier trailed off as Geralt pointedly stroked his cock while staring into his eyes, one eyebrow arched in that way that always made Jaskier feel very silly and very young indeed.

“You? Take advantage of the notorious White Wolf?” Geralt laughed, stroking lewdly. “I’m not one of your blushing maidens, Jaskier. Even if I may not be experienced in this particular act.”

“Not experienced? You’re not--are you? No, you’re not--No--”

Geralt shrugged. “I’ve never gotten it up the ass before, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jaskier’s eyes were saucers and his cock throbbed. “Gods. Fuck. Geralt. Fuck.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Fuck Geralt. Now.”

Jaskier nodded. “Right. Yes. OK. On it. Here, I’ve...um...I’ve got some oil in my bag,” he blushed, digging through his satchel for a moment before returning. He knelt between Geralt’s legs, which had been inching further and further apart as they spoke. 

Geralt wiggled his eyebrows. “Thought you might get lucky, hm?”

Jaskier blushed. “Says you, Sir Fucksalot. Here, shall I start you off with my fingers?” 

Geralt moaned in response.

Jaskier grinned. “Sounds like a ‘yes.’ It shouldn’t hurt if you relax. I’ll just put some oil on, and here, I’ll help you relax.” Jaskier rubbed soothing circles around the outside of Geralt’s asshole. “There, that’s good. Just relax,” he breathed.

Geralt moaned. “I _am_ relaxed. Fuck me!” so Jaskier tentatively slid his fingertip inside. There was less resistance than he expected, so he supposed Geralt really _wasn’t_ terribly tense, and then he felt silly, because of _course_ the Witcher himself, slayer of demons, was not afraid of a finger up his ass. Jaskier curled his finger, seeking out Geralt’s prostate, and when Geralt gasped suddenly and rocked back against Jaskier’s hand, he supposed he had found it. 

“There, Geralt? Does that feel good?”

“Ah! Obviously,” he grunted. “More.”

So Jaskier added a second finger and focused on fucking in and out of Geralt, sliding against that spot each time, and Geralt quickly devolved into a gasping, moaning wreck, the phrase “fuck me” spilling out of him over and over like a prayer.

“Are you ready for my cock?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes, yes, fuck me,” Geralt moaned, and Jaskier grinned. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you if you can’t relax for me,” and Geralt bucked against Jaskier’s hand and said, “Fuck me! Fuck. Me. Fuck. Me.” And it became a desperate chant as he fucked himself on Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier grinned. This was _fun._

“Well, since you asked so nicely, I guess you can have my cock. Here, put your legs over my shoulders.” Jaskier situated them so Geralt was lying on his back with his knees bent over Jaskier’s shoulders, and Jaskier would be able to fuck into him and watch Geralt’s face as he came undone. Jaskier licked his lips at the thought. He lined himself up with Geralt’s well-used hole. “Are you ready?” he breathed, and Geralt cried out, frustrated, “YES! FUCK ME ALREADY,” and so he did.

Fuck, but Geralt was _tight._ And the way his face screwed up with pleasure when Jaskier fucked into him, like it was the rightest thing in the world...Jaskier shivered. This might be the only time he could ever have Geralt, and he wanted it to last. He had to last. But when Geralt kept clenching around him, writhing in magic-enhanced ecstasy, it was very difficult to keep from coming. “Gods, Geralt, you feel so good,” he groaned, and Geralt groaned in response. “Fuck, stop moving so much, you’re going to make me come,” Jaskier moaned. 

Geralt groaned out, “No way, don’t you dare come. Fuck me,” and Jaskier cried out, “Ah! Geralt, I can’t--fuck, I’m so close--” and he pulled out just as his cock spasmed on the edge. 

Jaskier panted. “Fuck, that was close.” 

Geralt had no patience. He grabbed Jaskier’s cock and squirmed, managing to squeeze the head back inside. Jaskier sank into him fully and groaned. “Fuck, Geralt, I can’t take much more,” and Geralt said, “So distract yourself! I need this _perfect_ cock.”

Jaskier’s mind whirled. Distract himself. That was a good idea. But how? What could he think about?

Of course!

He leaned down and whispered in Geralt’s ear. “You may regret that idea, _Witcher_.” 

And he began to sing.

. . .

Geralt recognized the tune. It was what Jaskier had been humming as he washed their clothes in the creek. 

But the words...the words were new.

“The Butcher of Blaviken,

He saved a pretty lass,

And now his just reward is

A big cock in his ass!”

Jaskier had been thrusting into Geralt in time with the tune, and he yelped as a fist thumped into his arm, interrupting his rhythm. “Oh, don’t try to punch me, you know you love it. Mm, shall I tie your hands up, Butcher? Would that help--Yes, yes, fine, I’ll shut up and fuck you.”

But he did not shut up for long. He grinned and took a deep breath.

“Ohhhh theeeeee

Infamous White Wolf,

He fought so brave and hard,

But what he really needed was

A shagging from a bard!”

Strong hands smacked his ass hard. “Hey, stop! Oh, mmm, actually, do that again…” Jaskier said, and he gasped when Geralt obeyed. 

Geralt smirked. “Like having your ass spanked, do you?”

Jaskier just bent Geralt even further and pounded him harder than ever. He rather forgot about his song for a minute. Geralt shuddered and moaned beneath him, and his thick cock twitched and drooled precum, begging Jaskier to take it in hand. This, in turn, made Geralt writhe and thrash and generally drive Jaskier absolutely wild.

  
“Are you close, Geralt? Are you going to come for me?” 

“Yes,” Geralt choked out.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped, overwhelmed. He just needed to last another minute...just enough to break Geralt’s spell...assuming, of course, an orgasm would accomplish that...Jaskier shuddered, suddenly imagining that perhaps they might need to spend a whole week entwined, or a month, or forever, and oh no, nononono he needed a distraction _now_ and so he continued:

“Th-the Witcher, he has got

So (unh!) hot and tight a bum,

And if he keeps on _moving_ like that,

I think I’ll have to--

Oh, _fuck_ , Geralt, yes! Yesyesyesyessss-- oh! Oh! Ohh....” he cried out as he spilled deep inside Geralt, his hips stuttering and his hand stalling on Geralt’s weeping cock. 

Geralt grunted, “Don’t stop,” but saying that to a man in the middle of coming is useless, so he wrapped his own larger hand around Jaskier’s delicate fingers and jerked himself off using Jaskier’s hand. He stroked faster and faster and moments later, he cried out and came and came and came.

Jaskier watched him in awe, still buried inside him. Geralt was thrashing, screaming, spilling ropes of come that never seemed to end. Surely this must be the work of the spell, thought Jaskier. Surely Geralt did not usually experience such rapturous passion when he made love. Jaskier winced as the thought that he would never find out pierced his heart. 

Finally, Geralt collapsed, spent. Jaskier hovered over him, concern washing over him. He resisted the urge to kiss Geralt’s soft lips. “Geralt! Are you OK? Is the spell broken?”

Geralt grunted. “Fine. I’m fine. Tired.”

He repeated his question. “Is the spell gone? Have you no need for...for more?”

Geralt smiled weakly, eyes closed. “Think so. I’m fucked out. No more.”

Jaskier’s heart sank. Ah, well. He had known it would be this way.

“Be what way?”

Jaskier blushed.

“Yes, you said that out loud.”

Jaskier shook his head, knowing Geralt could not see it with his eyes closed. “I just...it’s nothing. I just knew I could fuck it out of you, that’s all.”

Geralt laughed and ran a finger through the mess of come on his chest. “You sure did. You fucked _a lot_ out of me. I’m a mess.”

Jaskier smiled sadly. “Yeah.”

Geralt yawned and murmured, “Wonder if I’ll come that much next time you fuck me.”

Jaskier started, eyes wide. “What?”

But Geralt was asleep, a little contented smile on his face. He slept long and did not dream, and, for the first time in many months, he did not wake until morning. Once, through the haze of sleep, he thought he heard the sound of lute-strings and his name sung so sweetly it stung his chest, but when he rolled over, it was gone. 

Perhaps, had he remembered in the morning, he would have asked, but all was forgotten when the crackle of a fire and the scent of grilling meat woke him the next morning. He cracked an eye and smiled, watching the now-fully-clothed bard crouching down, carefully stoking the fire. He looked down at himself and was startled to see that he, too, was clean and clothed. At the noise, Jaskier looked over. He could not keep himself from grinning, and he felt strangely bashful, his heart in his throat. “Morning, Witcher.” 

Geralt smiled back. “Morning, my bard.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments make me SO HAPPY and keep me writing more fics! (Even if it is just "UNFFF." *Especially* if it is just "UNFFF.")


End file.
